


We Warn From Disaster

by TheWaffleBat



Series: Home From All The Ports [5]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Dad!Barnabas, Dad!Herodotus, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, fuck Myrrine 2K19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-21 23:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17652014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWaffleBat/pseuds/TheWaffleBat
Summary: He scuffed his feet against the ground, kicking away a bird that wandered close, looking for scraps; looked back at Kassandra, who was trying - and failing - to teach Herodotus a few simple guards with a sword. “She’s found it difficult, I think, to be your child again,” He told her, watching as Myrrine’s face went carefully, deliberately blank at the reminder of the true distance between her and Kassandra. “She is not the girl that left Sparta.”Barnabas doesn't like Myrrine, and he's got more than a few words to say to her.





	We Warn From Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Rudyard Kipling's _The North Sea Patrol._

Ah, Poseidon’s sea truly was a wondrous thing to behold! Blue and endless, a world of opportunity that was always either good or bad or anywhere in between; sparkling in the midday sun shining at them like Kassandra’s beaming smile was shining out from where she stood at the helm, bright and joyous as she took them back to Lokris to reclaim her birthright.

Barnabas couldn’t help a smile, his heart tightly wound inside his chest, because she wasn’t his daughter by blood, true, but there were pieces of him in her edges, weren’t there? When the Adrestia cleaved through the sea, wind at their backs and filling the sail, Kassandra whooped a cry that reminded him of Ikaros’ joyous whistle when he dived and pounced on fallen leaves just for the fun of diving; feeling the same swoop in her gut he did as they sped across the sea. When a wave made them bounce high she laughed, bright and happy as the sun high above. When the wind died down, still and unmoving across the deck, she called for a break and simply stood at the railings with him, enjoying the endless horizon and the whales breaching nearby.

Yes, he decided, nodding to himself. Yes, they were not blood-bound but she was like him, same as her love of the stories of old was like Herodotus. It was to them she came late at night when she was too haunted by the past she wasn’t willing to share entirely, wolf on her heels with a worried whine in its black-furred throat, and hovered at their shoulders because she wanted a hug but didn’t know how to ask for one.

He turned from the sea with a frown while Kassandra guided them around a cluster of tiny islands - looked to Myrrine talking with Brasidas at the mast, out of the way of the crew and Odessa whipping into shape the ones who were slacking.

He didn’t like her. Barnabas would have a hell of a time explaining why, because he didn’t know, but he didn’t like her with much the same instinct that told him a storm was coming, like the itch in the scar just below his useless eye that warned him of lightning. Maybe he was just being petty - jealous of Kassandra’s attention being divided between he and her mother, and he knew it was unfair of him but he couldn’t quite help the bitter ash taste that came to his tongue whenever he saw them together.

The sky was cheerfully cloudless when he turned his attention back to it, bright blue as the sapphires on a market stall he’d noticed once and had considered buying before he remembered that Kassandra would much prefer the sturdy leather gauntlets a stall over, or the soft leggins in the stall over from that one that she could change into for sleep or for trotting about on deck, keeping order like only the very best captains could. She always, he mused fondly, inspired obedience, even apart from the loyalty she earned easily enough from her men because she always remembered names, and had friendly greetings for them come morning and friendly goodnights come evening.

But Myrrine, he sighed, and decided that it was worth thinking about; he wasn’t Kassandra’s true father and, even if by glorious good luck he _was_ , he had no authority to interfere. He loved Kassandra too much to not be civil. But he didn’t like the way she was familiar with Kassandra, like twenty years didn’t span wide and empty between them. Kassandra might be willing to become Spartan once again, but he didn’t like Myrrine brushing over Kassandra’s concerns about some of their practices. Mostly, Barnabas decided with a decisive nod to himself, he didn’t like the way Myrrine thought Kassandra should drop everything she believed to follow a more bloody path just because Myrrine was her mother,

Brasidas had told him that Myrrine had asked Kassandra to kill Lagos, and that Kassandra had refused. He’d felt a warm curl of pride below his heart because Kassandra was violent, yes - a hand always on her spear when in places she didn’t know, blade-edges sharp as her smiles to the men on the decks of enemy ships and forever cleaning blood from between the layers of her leather armour - but she was kind, too; merciful where it counted, never one to kill unless she’d been harmed first, or she believed it was needed like when she dropped from a roof to slash open a cultists' throat.

But it was… _galling_ in its way to think that Myrrine had expected Kassandra to just abandon those principles! And at the whim of what was functionally a stranger no less! It _annoyed_ him to think that Myrrine would so easily destroy her daughter’s careful balance between violence and compassion. But Barnabas kept his tongue, all through the day until by evening they’d docked for the night, not too far from their final stop in Sparta, and it refused to be kept longer.

“Myrrine?” He said when she’d just stepped from the deck, looking towards a vendor in the market selling food. He felt Kassandra’s eyes on his back, the creeping heat of shame crawling up the back of his neck because he _shouldn’t interfere_ , but she could damn him or not, Barnabas wouldn’t let it continue! “A moment?”

She looked to Kassandra, to his face, and readjusted her belt so the dagger was more secure on her hip. Myrrine nodded, so Barnabas led her a little way away, into the shadow of another ship on the dock, and invited her to lean against the wall of a house with him; arms crossed across his chest, because he was patient, usually, but Kassandra was worthy of his impatience too and, well, he was a little frightened of Myrrine. Not in the same way Kassandra frightened him either - for all he knew she was a wolf, as wild and mostly untamed as her own sat at her feet, he trusted her teeth to never be used against him. Myrrine was a she-wolf who hadn’t earned that trust, and at this rate never would. He didn’t particularly want her too.

He turned his attention to Kassandra on the Adrestia’s dock, tossing a few pieces of meat for her Ikaros to snap up, and pretending to be annoyed when, as she sat beside Herodotus on the benches, her wolf put its head on her knee, licking the blood from her fingers and begging for treats too.

“Ah,” He said with a smile, “She’s a fine young woman, don’t you think? You must be very proud of her.” Myrrine nodded, murmured assent with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes - a true politician, he thought, and tried not to shrink into himself. “She saved me on Kephallonia, back when she needed a ship to take her to Megaris. All she wanted to do was find out the truth about her family.”

Barnabas didn’t begrudge her that, that she’d only stuck with him for the Adrestia. They didn’t know each other then, and it had taken her time to come to trust him. But he knew now, of course, that she’d cross every sea Poseidon put in her way just to try to help him. Once she loved she loved completely, as utterly selfless as a friend and daughter as she was selfish as a mercenary. He wondered if she cared for him as a father or as friend, then decided it didn’t matter - her care at all was enough for him.

“Did she now?” Myrrine said, and a black, vicious thing beneath his heart was a little satisfied by the note of pride in her voice. Not much, but a little.

He scuffed his feet against the ground, kicking away a bird that wandered close, looking for scraps; looked back at Kassandra, who was trying - and failing - to teach Herodotus a few simple guards with a sword. “She’s found it difficult, I think, to be your child again,” He told her, watching as Myrrine’s face went carefully, deliberately blank at the reminder of the true distance between her and Kassandra. “She is not the girl that left Sparta.”

“You don’t know what happened that night!” Hissed Myrrine, a spark of anger bright in her eyes.

“No,” Barnabas agreed, “I don’t. But I know some, and I may not be a father to my own child but I know enough to tell you that children change a lot in twenty years. Whatever she might have been in Sparta she has become her own woman now - she came to find you because _she_ wanted to, anything less than that and I don’t think she would have tried.”

Myrrine crossed her own arms, turned away from him to watch a couple walking hand-in-hand down the street. She bared her teeth a moment. “And you tell me this why?” She asked, and Barnabas wondered if there was spite in her voice or if it was just his own bias that put it there. “I know my mistakes better than you could know.” She huffed - it was too sharp to be a sigh. “My daughter has always been proud - I know well enough she’d have never come to find me if she didn’t want to.”

His jaw tightened, because he wasn’t sure if he should  believe Myrrine was genuine or not. “That woman on the Adrestia,” He said, “has not had a true family for years, Myrrine. Whatever little girl you remember, she is not that now. She has grown up without a mother, and now that she’s found her she doesn’t know what to do with one. Be careful you don’t use that against her,” He added, starting for the ship and where Herodotus was waiting, eyes bright with the same vicious satisfaction because Kassandra was _theirs_ and whatever squabbles they might have they would always look out for her, united alone against the world if they had to.

Barnabas left Myrrine there, in the shadow of someone’s home, and whatever expression he’d left on her face he didn’t care to look back to see; turned his focus on Kassandra scratching her wolf’s belly, Ikaros balanced like a ridiculous hat on her head - _that_ was what was important.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to lie, fuck Myrrine. She's an awful character, and I hate her, and having finished the family ending where everything's all bright and happy because I physically can't make myself take the mean options, fuck the writers of Odyssey. The characters are written brilliantly - they've all got personality and charisma and all that jazz - but you can't do stories for shit and this sugary ending is _worthless_. They should have had dead Myrrine and Deimos and Kassandra bonding over that instead of all being happy together like Deimos hasn't been tortured his entire life.
> 
> So yeah, this is just me ranting for just over 1700 words. #1 dad mugs for Barnabas and Herodotus, Myrrine grudgingly gets a seat at the family dinner table, and Pythagoras can feel free to deep throat Leonidas' spear - either one, I'm feeling charitable. Any glaring errors please let me know - I was half asleep when I wrote this.


End file.
